


One

by randomalia (spilinski)



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4219605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilinski/pseuds/randomalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only way, when he was like this, was steady and careful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble for black_hound! Bookverse, post-amputation of Bush's foot.

He shifted his hips, rocking, lifting, trying to gain the right leverage, the kind of angle it might be if someone else were touching him. His right leg ached dully from the strain of holding nearly all the weight, and he blew air from his mouth as his hips came back to the mattress. Almost, _almost_ he could feel the soft dry surface of the bed sheet under the sole of his foot, and how it might fold and ripple as he pushed his leg steadily down and out. Almost. It was like remembering the motion of a ship after too long on land; you could dream about it but it wouldn't be there when you woke.

So he couldn't do it with legs bent any longer. He let his right foot turn inwards and the knee fall. Both legs on the sheet now, everything on the pale sheet save for one hand curled on his heavy cock. A tilt of the neck and there, the pillow sinking against his cheek as he closed his eyes.

He tightened his hand and pulled upwards, letting the low hum of pleasure reverberate in his chest. He felt scattered, unbearably restless, a thousand things and nothing in his mind. Not even this: the warmth burning between cock and palm, beneath bed and body and air. His chest seemed to shudder as he drew a long, slow breath and let it trail back out, like the shake of cold weather but much too hot. There was no air in the room.

The only way, when he was like this, was steady and careful, or he'd lose the feeling and it would grow and gnaw at him from his gut and throat for days.

So he kept his eyes closed. Let the noise of the street fall away. His hand sank lower, pushing, pressing with the worn-away edges at his fingertips. Cupped the soft weight of his balls, then began to stroke.


End file.
